


towards the light

by halcyonskies



Series: 100Themes: Dean/Cas [70]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Loves Humanity, Castiel Sees In Colors, Gen, Souls Are Colors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5150120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonskies/pseuds/halcyonskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humans are inclined toward self-deprecation, but maybe if they could see their own souls they wouldn't be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	towards the light

**Author's Note:**

> 100Themes Challenge - #95: Fantasia

Where his friends saw shapes and shadow and the bare bones of hue, Castiel saw _color._

Everything that lived held at least a small part of God within it, whorls of light and tones extending past the perceivable colors of a rainbow. Castiel, and every angel like him, saw the world like that, a constant fantasia of light and color. Human souls were the most brilliant of all, God’s final masterpiece before He retired into nonexistence. That simple fact had been one of the many reasons Castiel had never understood, and by extension never fit in with his brothers and sisters.

How could _any_ angel look upon souls so bright and vivid and scoff about their worthlessness?

Castiel had seen more colors than he could possibly recall over the vast years of his life. They’d all been amazing – even down to the smallest, most insignificant creature – but humanity was a broad canvas over which splashed every color on the palette. Castiel had seen so many beautiful souls, swirling jewel-bright or storm-dark and always inspiring awe in him, he who was _made_  with the colors of God’s grace.

Because Castiel had lived among humans for so long, and so had adopted some of their habits, he quickly developed a bias toward the souls of his friends, cherishing them above all else.

Bobby Singer had been smokey-gray, through which shots of whiskey-light had shone through. Like the smell of your father’s coat, or the warm atmosphere of a favorite restaurant.

Kevin Tran had been berry-bruised, deeply purple and speckled with a clean, pure shine. Like a dark night – not necessarily cold, not necessarily unwelcoming, and always with the stars to show you the way.

Charlie Bradbury had been vibrant and deep, starbursts of color through a film of intense blue. Like seeing a diverse family of coral beneath the ocean, or stardust through the void of space.

Of course, he was guilty of having favorites. He’d lived among humanity for too long not to have developed some of their weaknesses. And Castiel, Angel of the Lord, was especially inclined to the souls of his two very best friends.

When he’d first seen Sam Winchester Castiel had cared only about the tarnished bits of his soul, the corroded pieces of a a machine in otherwise perfect working order. Demon blood corrupted in the worst kind of way, taking a human soul and _changing_ it, wiping bits of luminescence away.  But when they’d actually become friends, Castiel could see Sam’s soul for what it was – red-heat, spiderwebbed in streaks of caramel-glow. Like the smell of cinnamon and syrup, like curling up with a favorite book in front of the fireplace.

He’d always figured Dean’s soul would be brilliant – or why else would he have been worthy of a Righteous title? But actually _seeing_ it – even through the murky bowels of Hell, even through the screaming and the blood and pain – was enough to bring Castiel to his proverbial knees. Even the pieces tarnished irrevocably by Hell could not take away from the sheer _blaze_ of it, burning like golden fire, shimmering in green dust, green _stars._ It was almost too much for him, certainly too lovely to touch with his cold grace, but Castiel had done his duty (and felt immeasurably proud of it afterwards).

Castiel couldn’t comprehend how any angel might look upon a human, _his_ humans, and compare their souls to those of apes, of monkeys. Those creatures were simple things, dancing in earthen shades, brown and pale-light, sunlight through leaves. Humanity was _bright,_ his humans were _vibrant_ – and perhaps that was what the angels couldn’t understand.


End file.
